Stormfront 3
by juliasejanus
Summary: Third Part of the Stormfront Arc. AU after Chapter 17 of Stormbreaker. SLASH Relationships Alex has exiled himself after the devastating events of his 18th birthday. Now he has to decide where he goes from here?
1. Chapter 1

It was very peaceful, only the sounds of the birds, insects and very distant traffic noise. In the few months he had lived alone, he had grown used to this pastural idyll. Alex was sat on a bench on the west side of the green lane, on the brow of the hill, beside an arable field, on a bright and fine September morning. It was clear and he took in the wonderful view to the north, over the Vale of Pickering across to Kirkbymoorside and Farndale. He was half way through his usual circuit of four miles for his a daily brisk walk from Laundry Lane to the village then to Broughton by the old railway track and up and around through the Bridle paths back to his small cottage. The two bedroomed terrace had been bought at auction in April, complete with basic furnishings left from its former use as a holiday home. It was perfect, a mile from the village, two miles from the nearest town and eight miles from the North York Moors. It was just outside of the main tourist haunts, so very quiet and peaceful. The house had previously been owned by a retired couple who had recently moved into full time residential care.

Alex had bought the cottage sight unseen. Here, he was a complete recluse except for his monthly appointments to the Nuffield Hospital in York for his check-ups, the bi-monthly visits of his therapist Jean Briggs and his weekly visits to the local supermarket.

Sergei had been dead for seven months. Murdered by assailants unknown. Maria and Alex had both been cleared as suspects. Two days after those fateful events, Maria had been left Paris to go back to Moscow, to take the reigns of Sergei Rushkov's vast business holdings. On hearing the plans, the teenager had discharged himself from hospital in Paris and traveled back with her. The pair were each others support through the nightmare of life without Sergei.

After the small private funeral was held in Moscow within five days for Sergei Rushkov. The Russian woman had insisted that Alex rest completely and follow the rules laid down by the doctor, with regular check ups, taking his prescribed medication and looking after himself. Sergei's staff now looked after Maria. Alex had felt completely unneeded as work kept Maria on her toes. So, the eighteen year old made plans for his own future. His workaholic sister had inherited most of Sergei's estate. The arms dealer had also bequeathed a substantial trust for his favourite poet. A monthly income to keep Alex in luxury, overseen by Maria, to prevent Alex falling into bad habits. He had used the money that kept being deposited by Edward to secure his own place, a cash sale in an auction for a home back in England. Even before Sergei's death, Alex had trusted Maria, as Sergei trusted her. She was a good friend, once you got to know her.

Alex breathed in the clean country air and tried not to think of the past, just the present moment. His seclusion guaranteed as he had left the name Rider behind. Here he was Alex Beckett. He had accomplished the name change legally. All his documentation changed, both his British and Israeli passports. The only person he had informed had been Maria, who was happy to act as buffer between the fragile poet and his previous life. He spoke to her at least twice a week. She was happy with his positive attitude, moving on from the devastation of the events of his eighteenth birthday.

The woman had expected Alex to have completely fallen apart after the loss of Sergei. The eighteen year old was, in truth, disassociated from the trauma, as he could not remember any of the events that day. All memory lost after his head trauma, which according to his neurologist was expected and normal. He still sported a wicked scar on the left side of his head caused by the bullet nicking his skull. He had intermittent awful headaches, but his depression, grief and other issues had not stagnated into self harm, but led to Alex's adoption and adherence to his own management plan to keep his weight up, to get over his complete devastation. Some may think of his life now as avoidance but it was a good comprosmise, as he had no reason to return to London, Paris, Nice or Moscow. He also had to admit his strong desire not to see or do anything.

Alex had a phone and laptop, but his only friend and confidante was his affectionate, bossy, adopted sister, Maria Federova. His only friend and family now.

Today was proving to be a good day, his walk perfectly timed to avoid dog walkers or kids on the way to school. He sat an tried to think of clouds and wild flowers in this beautiful landscape, he had not written verse since a short note he had left on Maria's desk

_The storm inside me has stilled_

_My emotions were yours and yours alone_

_When did I loose myself in you?_

_You were my axis, the centre of my universe_

_Now I am alone in the void_

_No up, no down, no light, only dark..._

He stood up to walk the mile home. He could not complain about his immediate neighbours, who were friendly enough, but thankfully not too nosy. The only personal contact for the young man, if you did not count the health professionals, the monosyllabic driver or the person on the till at Morrisons.

He arrived home to see Maggie, his neighbour, putting out the washing, taking advantage of the fine weather and stiff breeze. "Morning Alex. You look well this morning."

"Not bad, Mrs. Hooke. How about you."

"Good. My daughter is back tonight for the weekend."

Through conversations shared with his neighbour, Alex had heard all about Delia, twenty two, still at medical school. The apple of her parent's eye. "Have a good time. If you need anything I'll be around. Well I'm in York this afternoon. Do you want me to pick you up anything from M&S?"

"No thanks, love. You're a dear for offering." Margaret Hooke had tried to gossip with the driver who arrived the last Friday of the month, like clockwork, but who stated he knew very little about the teenager he ferried about. She has watched over the strange boy who had moved next door a week after its sale. The boy just an adult, had no visitors, he did not go out, neither to the pub, church or to any clubs.

Alex went inside and checked his computer for any emails and his mobile for messages. He had an email and a message both from Moscow, he then called Maria back. He was one of a very few that had that woman's direct dial. Maria had a new and very scary personal secretary in Yulia Zinovieva, a strict woman who was very good at insisting on messages being left and never disturbing her busy boss. Maria picked up after four rings. "Darling Sasha, how are you?"

"Fine, its a lovely morning here. I've just finished my walk."

"I'm glad you are fit and well. No headaches this week?"

"One on Tuesday. Not a full Migraine, so I was OK by the evening. I would have called you this evening after my appointment in York, what's up?"

"Five messages from Edward Pleasure. Please talk to him. He wants you to attend some open auditions in London next week."

"Later, after I see what Mr. Koreshi says after this afternoon's appointment."

"Sounds like a plan. You have Edward's details. Call him."

"Yes, Masha." Alex always agreed with Maria, she was usually right about everything. It helped the woman was brilliantly efficient. She had even sorted out the mess of the bequests from Ian Rider. The Royal and General had tried to play the 'Alex is mentally unstable card, so not to be trusted with any money'. Maria acted as banker, guardian and financial controller. She had a lawyer trying to track down personal effects, but it was likely Blunt had ordered the documents, photos and furniture sold or destroyed.

...

That afternoon, the driver arrived promptly at 1, as usual. Alex liked the fact Maria had sorted a private car for him to use. It was better than walking into Malton to get the bus or train into York. Dave was not a talker, then again he did not annoy Alex with questions. Alex would endure his poke and prod by the doctor then visit M&S for some decent food for the next week.

The doctor had the results of a series of scans, the nurses' observations and his four appointments with the miracle boy, who survived a shot to the head by a professional assassin. "Well, Alex. I think you are officially fit and healthy. You will probably continue to have headaches and migraines. So, no smoking, be careful how much alcohol you drink, especially red wine. Keep up the regular exercise, eat balanced meals and enjoy yourself responsibly and you should be fine."

...

After seven months Alex had finally been given a clean bill of health. He stood outside the hospital to tell Maria the good news straight away.


	2. Chapter 2

It was after nine, Alex was drinking a glass of white wine to celebrate his return to health. He was procrastinating and he knew it. He had eaten cheese and crackers for his frugal supper. He should phone Edward, he really should. The sky was darkening and Alex suddenly missed the blissful solitude he'd enjoyed this summer. He had enjoyed seeing the crops in the nearby fields ripen, be harvested and the fields were now being ploughed, from green to gold and now brown. In August, Alex had lain awake at night listening to the distant drone of the combine harvesters working until the after midnight. It had been strange, the the low rubble had been comforting. Rural Yorkshire was an alien place for a boy who had grown up in cities. He looked at the blank journal by his chair, half the pages torn out already and burnt. He had not written a word worth recalling in months. He picked up a pen...

Broken, I am not broken.

I have bent in the winds of adversity.

You call me reckless.

I acted out of need to be heard.

Alex then threw the pen down in disgust. Such self obsessed drivel.

Alex did not feel guilty for not talking to Edward. It wasn't like he hadn't been in touch. He's sent a couple of postcards. Both posted from Moscow, via Maria. So the journalist knew he was alive. Alex just hadn't been in the mood to socialize or go over the crap about the book, his horrible past or to justify the fact he was a complete recluse. It was good being a nobody again. Alex's brief brush with fame, publicity and being in the public eye had always led to a strange distorted pseudo Alex on display, his masks were there for all to see. Most of the press sensationalized his bad days not caring that most of the time he was a boring nobody. He liked the quiet, dull life away from London. Its not as if Alex had any close friends, not anymore. He really could not put it off any longer and not face Maria's wrath.

Three rings and Liz Pleasure answered the phone. She was in the middle of creating for a new production and did not need any distraction. She answered the blasted device with a curt "Hello!"

"Umm.. Liz? Err.. Is Edward there? Its Alex, Alex Rider." It sounded so weird after calling himself Alex Beckett since May.

"Oh, how are you, Alex? Thank you for your flowers on my birthday. They were lovely?'

"Well florists are great, you pay they create. I'm glad you liked the bouquet. So is Edward home?"

"No, he's somewhere... let me see... his diary states he's at a meeting with some director over script rewrites. He was due back at seven but he rang to say the meeting was running late. You could try his mobile."

"Ok Liz, I'll text him."

Hi Edward, its Alex. You can get me on this number. I spoke to Liz. You have your priorities wrong, leaving your lovely lady home alone on a Friday night. She might be tempted to stray...

Alex went to put the kettle on. He kept his wine consumption to a bottle over the weekend, which worked out at two small glasses a night. He was going to have a cup of chai tea and have a sit in the backyard, and think back to the wonderful feeling of smoking, God he missed it.

The square of concrete with a small deck and outdoor dining area, It was tiny but manageble. A few herbs in pots, not that Alex did much cooking. He did not call reheating ready meals or throwing together pasta and a jar of sauce, cooking. What was the point? He had ordered a few take out pizzas, but the three local takeaways were not a patch on Luigi's in Chelsea. Where the pizzas had been cooked in an authentic wood fired oven. The dough peppered with flecks of ash. Alex had only been to Turin in Italy. He must travel a bit and explore new horizons. He had all the time in the world. Maybe, next year, at the moment he was just happy just to be still, unobserved and alone.

The peace of the evening twilight was disturbed when a young woman with brown hair came out of the neighbours house. "Hi, I'm Delia. Mum's told me a lot about the polite boy living next door ."

Alex put down his tea cup "Hello Delia, I'm Alex. How's medical school? As you can see your mother talks about you as well."

"It's good. I love Edinburgh and plan to stay on up there after I graduate next year." The girl flicked her brown bob and smiled "Fancy a trip into town. I'm meeting a few friends for a drink at the Spotted Cow?"

"Thanks for offering but can I rain check. I'm thinking of an early night. I'm always shattered after getting poked and prodded by my doctor in York."

"Oh anything serious?"

"Yeah, kind of, serious head injury in February. It's taken a whole to get back up to speed and I daren't go back to my bad old habits of partying hard." Alex then looked at the girls disbelieving face. "After my last stint in rehab I've sworn off pubs, clubs and parties in general. For you information it was hard drugs and excessive alcohol, not the bullshit about exhaustion most of the other guys staying at St. Jude's went on about. Best keep out of temptations way."

"Sure thing Alex. Rain check"

Alex always found absolute honesty and bluntness was the best way to get people to back off. The idea of standing in a pub drinking beer would just, in the end, lead him to purchasing chemical enhancement of the very illegal variety. He loved the loss of control, the black dreamless oblivion promised by getting the right combination of vodka, coccaine and heroin. The edge of darkness, that promised never waking up. He had vowed to himself, to Maria and initially to Sergei, he would not fall off the wagon. Stick to wine and champagne but nothing stronger. Alex then laughed at his continued wrier's block, the truth was without being off his head his muse had left.

...

Alex looked at his phone as it rang far too early on a Sunday morning. 07:20. Shit, fuck and buggery, who the hell was ringing him this early.

"What?"

"Err.. Alex? Its Edward... Sorry I lost track of time and I just read your text. Its after 9am in Moscow?"

"Yeah... I guess...Fuck, Edward! I live in England so its still sleeping in time for a normal Sunday. I'll call you back in fifteen minutes. I need a slash and a cup of tea."

Edward Pleasure had been so sure Alex was still in Russia. Then again, Alex was a law unto himself and had lived quietly and off the radar in Chichester for year. True to his word, Alex called back after 25 minutes. "How are you Alex? Are you back living in Sussex?"

Alex thought back to the joyless, practically squalid bedsit he'd resided in while at college. "No, God, no. Somewhere rural and quiet. I'm fit and well, just not in touch with any of the old crowd. So why do you need to see me?"

"Right, the film is all green lighted. The script is finished, but I would prefer you're approval of the 'fictionalised account'. I'd prefer you OK it rather than think its a complete fairy tale. Its graphic in places. There are open auditions for teenage you in London starting on Tuesday at the London School of Musical Theatre, Borough Road near Waterloo."

"Fictionalised?... right! To tell you the truth, I could not tell you the real nightmare about Sayle because of the OSA. All the crap about Yassen was spot on. The actor they've cast is fit, isn't he? Yassen is beautiful, you know. I did not fall for an ugly bastard. He never lied as well, he was the real deal of brutally honest. Fuck, I've not really thought about that crap for weeks. I do need to talk to you about getting over writer's block. I've produced drivel when I've tried to write. Verse is not flowing, not anymore. I've discussed it with my therapist, but she thinks its because I'm in limbo here. She thinks I'll start writing when I get my shit together and start dating again. I'm a recluse here, no socialising at all. Well, that way I'm not tempted to get shitfaced."

"I promise the actor is fit. I'm not naming him because the director is wanting to keep details under wraps. So, are you coming to London?"

"Sure Edward, I'll see you bright and early on Tuesday in Waterloo."


End file.
